Chapter 20

Chapter

Twenty

The campus of Founders Valley Medical Center sprawled across a hilltop overlooking the Eldridge Art Museum, Harrington Botanical Gardens, and the newly renamed Lear Fineman Memorial Performing Arts Center. I parked in a shopping center across the street from the medical center's south entrance so we could watch the crime scene from a safe distance.

From our vantage point, I counted a half-dozen squad cars with lights flashing crowded into the drop-off zone in front of the main medical building. Yellow crime scene tape billowed in the breeze in the area of a covered walkway between buildings.

Additional police vehicles had parked at each of the private medical center's four gated entrances. Uniformed officers and security guards were checking every car coming and going. The gatehouses also had conspicuous video cameras that captured each vehicle as it entered and exited the campus. Ordinarily, that would be a big deterrent for anyone intending to commit a crime on the premises. But in this case, I suspected the real criminal hadn't passed any of the gates .

"Do we want to chance it?" Malcolm asked, hovering over my shoulder. "Looks like they're checking driver's licenses and talking to drivers and passengers."

"I don't think we could get in." I crossed my arms and studied the activity at the gate. "They're probably asking visitors whether they have an appointment and checking with the medical center staff. How do you feel about doing some recon in super-stealth mode?"

"Super-stealth mode is how I roll." He stuck his right leg over the console. "But I'd feel better if you could take this magic and put it in a crystal. It's making me itch."

Black and red threads of magic coiled around his ankle and foot. I met his gaze and asked him with my eyes if he was okay. He smiled, so I knew he was.

"That ghost grenade didn't miss you by much, huh?" I asked, studying the trace.

"Nope. I'm lucky I've got reflexes like a coked-up cat or you'd be trying to reach me with a Ouija board."

Another brief chuckle from Matthias. That was two in less than an hour, when I'd barely gotten him to smile before today.

Cautiously, I passed my fingers through Malcolm's non-corporeal form and scooped out the black magic that clung to him. The little tendrils wrapped around my fingers, leaving painful red marks that stung. I hissed in pain.

I'd wondered if the trace from the ghost grenade might match the dark magic we'd found yesterday in the parking garage and at the murder scene, but it did not. That didn't mean Mr. Touchy wasn't somehow connected to the necromancer, but this magic, while also occult, didn't feel at all similar.

I transferred the ghost grenade magic to an empty crystal—one with my strongest containment and masking spells so the magic couldn't escape or be tracked by the person who created it.

"We have two kinds of black magic to track now," I told Malcolm. "The magic from yesterday, which I'm pretty sure is going to lead us to a necromancer, and this one belonging to whoever Mr. Touchy is affiliated with."

"So you think this is two different problems?" He flitted. "I deserve hazard pay now more than ever."

"I'll put that on the agenda for my next business meeting with Arkady." I glanced up the hill at the medical center. "See what you can find out for us. Be careful."

"Always." He went invisible and zipped away.

"You care about him a lot," Matthias observed. "I didn't realize you were so close. My former employer said you'd bound him to you as…" He hesitated. "A servant."

Of course that was what Valas would have thought. Odd that she hadn't noticed or couldn't see the angelic magic that bound Malcolm and me together, though. I would have thought someone with her powers would have noticed the silver trace.

"I didn't bind him," I told Matthias. "How we ended up together is a long story for another day, but he's like my brother. Or as Malcolm puts it, my sib from another crib." I heaved a sigh and checked a local news site on my phone. "Not much online about the murder yet. The breaking news report just says one deceased victim who was an employee of the medical center, and one suspect in custody. No names. Nothing about the suspect yelling that he didn't kill anybody. If Philippa hadn't gotten a tip-off, we wouldn't know this might be connected to Oliver's case."

"The news will get out." Matthias's eyes glowed as he stared in the direction of the flashing lights on top of the hill. "And when it does, it'll be a circus. Even these detectives you say don't believe your client's story will have to at least consider the possibility that he's telling the truth."

"One of them might. I don't think the other ever will."

"Even if you show him evidence?" His frown deepened. "I don't understand that mindset. Evidence is evidence."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" I shrugged. "But all we have right now is blurs and a shadow and some nasty black magic. It's not going to be enough."

"In Vampire Court, it would be more than enough to require very thorough investigation, and certainly sufficient for reasonable doubt."

"I reluctantly stipulate than in some matters, the vamps are more advanced than humans." I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "I suppose it would be much more difficult to dismiss evidence of supernatural or paranormal involvement if you're happen to be supernatural yourself."

"That is true," Matthias said. "You know, if this is the necromancer striking again, it's a serious escalation. From a lone woman walking at night down an alley to broad daylight at a private hospital with tight security and probably multiple witnesses."

I'd been thinking the same thing. "Three assaults, then Madison's murder, now this. There's upping the ante, and then there's…" I waved in the direction of the crime scene tape. "It's not just an escalation in victimology and risk—it's several giant steps up in terms of visibility. This isn't one of the public hospitals. It's private. I've seen ads for this place offering an on-site spa, chauffeur services in luxury vehicles to and from appointments, and recliners with private televisions and charging ports in all waiting areas. People don't get murdered here."

"Now they do." His tone was grave. "With this, the necromancer wants to make a point. Anyone may become a victim or a killer. No one is safe."

My stomach filled with dread. "Another reason for the police to publicly refute claims of spirit possession. People would panic."

"And panicking people will do terrible and unpredictable things."

"Like what happened after the West-Addison harnad killed Mark Dunlap last year," I said, my voice quiet. "Or the riots in Cincinnati two years before that. "

A telltale cold tingle on my arms alerted me to the arrival of my ghost sidekick. Malcolm appeared in the back seat.

"Thank you for the warning," Matthias said.

"You're welcome, buddy." Malcolm sighed. "Well, Darth Chanel was right: our necromancer has struck again. There's a murdered nurse up there in such bad shape that they're going off her name badge for identification until the medical examiner can confirm who she is. It looks like the killer smashed her face into a concrete pillar about five or six times before stabbing her. And before you ask, yes, I found the same nasty spirit trace we took from Madison's scene."

"So there's no doubt this is the work of the same necromancer and their ‘pet spirit,'" Matthias said.

"Nope. No doubt." Malcolm floated back and forth. "The detectives think the nurse was already dead when the stabbing started. The first slam into the pillar might even have knocked her out, but they don't know that for sure, obviously. If they're right, at least she didn't feel the rest of what happened. I hope that's true. I heard the coroner say she has more stab wounds than he could count. He used the word ‘butchered.'"

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply a few times to quell my nausea and fury.

As I did so, Matthias asked, "Which detectives did they assign to the case?"

"Diaz and Ferguson," Malcolm said.

"Huh?" Frowning, I opened my eyes and peered up at the hilltop. I couldn't see the detectives from here—just the yellow tape and squad cars that had probably parked deliberately to block the view of the scene. "So either they think it's connected and whoever's in charge assigned the same detectives as Madison's case, or Diaz and Ferguson were up next in rotation."

"Does this help Oliver?" Matthias asked. "Another case so similar to his?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "It all depends on how open-minded Diaz is willing to be. "

Several vehicles belonging to local news stations sped by, presumably on their way to the medical center's north gate, which was its main entrance. A police department spokesperson was likely to speak to the press there, well away from the murder scene.

"The suspect they've got in custody is one of the doctors who works here," Malcolm told us. "Apparently it took three people to tackle him and take away the knife, and he hasn't stopped shouting that he has no idea what's going on. He fought so hard a security guard had to taser him. They finally got him into a police SUV and took him downtown just before we got here."

"Did you get a name?" I asked. "For either of them?"

"Yeah, I read over Ferguson's shoulder while he took notes. The nurse's ID said Stephanie Harris, CRNA. The doctor's last name is Hutton. That's all I heard about him."

Matthias did a quick search on his phone. "I see a Dr. Gavin Hutton, endocrinologist, on the medical center's website. He's their only physician with that last name." He showed us a headshot of an attractive, dark-haired doctor in a white coat.

Another search turned up a profile for Stephanie Harris, who was about forty, with short blonde hair.

"I can't tell you if that's who I saw up there," Malcolm said. "She was a mess."

"How will you find this necromancer?" Matthias asked.

I thought about how to answer that question. "We have some magic trace we found yesterday, and there may be more at this scene. But it's not as simple as tracking it the way I usually do because tracking can go both ways, even with spells designed to protect me. A necromancer or a spirit can use that trace to get to me, and through me to Malcolm. This kind of magic requires bigger, different practice than our natural magic."

"Occult magic is way different from ours," Malcolm explained to Matthias. "We can capture it and track it fairly well, but we can't wield it or guarantee our safety against it. Well, it's not that we can't wield it," he amended. "We don't want to. "

"Even in a situation like this?" Matthias tilted his head. "If by using it you could find this necromancer and maybe save lives and prove your client innocent, wouldn't it be worth it?"

"I'm not an occult practitioner," I said. "Neither of us are. It's not something someone should dabble in. The only thing worse than a full-time occult practitioner is someone who knows just enough to use black magic in a half-assed way."

"Alice almost died last year because of just that situation," Malcolm interjected. "Someone who wanted her out of the way got hold of a poppet made by a black witch, and then didn't follow instructions for using it."

I almost snorted at the understatement. I'd damn near died throwing up blood and scratching myself to pieces. Carly had saved me from that hex and we'd become good friends soon after.

"Yeah, that poppet thing was bad." I rubbed the back of my neck. Tension and stress had formed knots in my muscles. "I hear you about saving lives—believe me, I do. But once you cross that line, no matter how justified you feel doing it, there's no going back. And the line keeps moving, and your view of the world and the people around you changes a little bit at a time, and the next thing you know?—"

"The next thing you know, there is no line anymore," Matthias finished.

"Yup," Malcolm said. "So me and Alice, we don't go there. We don't want to have to fight our way back again."

"I understand." Matthias considered. "Do you know someone who is willing to go there?"

"Yes. We've asked for help. She's preparing, but it takes time. This is not the kind of thing you can mess with on a whim." I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. "We need more of the necromancer magic and the spirit trace, though. We got so little yesterday from the other scenes. I don't know if it'll be enough for anyone to work with."

"I'll go get it," Malcolm said. "I'll be fast," he added before I objected. "As long as you get it out of me and into crystals before the bad guys sense something's up, I'll be fine."

I struggled with letting others take risks and probably always would. In this case, I didn't have the option of going up there myself, and the longer we waited to collect the trace, the more it would dissipate. We had little choice.

"Move fast," I said. "If I sense any trouble, I will yank you to me or send you into lockdown."

"I'll haul ghost ass," he promised before zipping away.

"What is ‘lockdown'?" Matthias asked.

I took two crystals off my bracelet, ready to transfer the trace the second Malcolm returned. "We have a special crystal in the basement workshop, behind the strongest wards I can make, where Malcolm can jump or I can send him in case of emergency. Its spellwork is so heavy-duty, only I can release him from it. Even he can't get out."

"A wise precaution."

"We've had two incidents where I almost lost him," I said. "He's a powerful mage, and most threats and dangers that could hurt humans or shifters don't affect him because he's a ghost, but he's not invincible, even if he acts like he is. If he were discorporated, that could severely injure or kill me since we're bound. And if someone captured him, there are fates far worse than death for spirits."

"I am aware," Matthias said, his voice grim.

Of course he understood. He'd probably seen as many nightmares at the Vampire Court as I had while a prisoner of my grandfather. Maybe more.

Come to think of it, maybe Matthias would have an idea for how to get Liam away from Moses. Anyone who'd been close to vampires for thirteen years would have absorbed all kinds of tricks and strategies for getting what they wanted from someone who wouldn't want to give it up if they knew the value of the item in question.

Before I could broach the subject, however, Malcolm popped into the center console area without warning. To his credit, Matthias didn't snarl this time.

"Hurry," Malcolm said, flitting in place, both arms outstretched. "This magic is really, really gnarly."

The more dangerous trace was the necromancer's black magic coiled in Malcolm's right hand, which our adversary could use to capture Malcolm as long as he held it. So I grabbed that first, as carefully as possible so I didn't damage the fragment. Unlike the remnants of magic we'd found at the garage and Madison's murder scene, this trace was fresh, powerful, and potentially deadly. And also as close to a live connection to our killer and their pet spirit as we could get.

Yesterday, the faint trace in the garage had merely scraped and burned my fingers. These sizzling threads of magic sliced deeply into my hand like I'd yanked on razor wire. The pain was excruciating. I was no stranger to this kind of agony and barely flinched, but blood streamed from the cuts.

Matthias snarled at the sight and smell of my blood. His rage made his golden shifter magic sear my skin.

With my bloody hand, I picked up a clear crystal with runes etched all over its sides. " Enclose ," I said. The magic ripped from my hand, leaving another set of lacerations that crisscrossed the first. I winced.

"Alice, what can I do?" Matthias demanded, his eyes bright amber as he trembled with the strain of holding back. "I can't watch and do nothing."

He might not experience the volatility of a new shifter, but his wolf was probably as dominant as Nan's and howling at him to get between me and this pain—to take the cause of it away and kill it with his teeth and claws or his bare hands if necessary. I knew this because that was how Sean reacted when I got hurt. The difference was, Sean had far more control over his wolf and his shifter instincts.

This magic wasn't something Matthias could kill, but I could borrow some of his strength. Maybe that would be enough to settle his wolf.

"Put your hand on my shoulder," I told him. And then I added two words that didn't come easily to me, but that he needed to hear. "Help me."

Though Matthias hadn't yet developed a shifter's need for physical contact with pack mates, he didn't hesitate to do as I'd asked. The moment his catcher's mitt of a hand rested on my shoulder, his power crackled in the air, waiting to be unleashed. His touch immediately comforted me.

Someday, this man will be an alpha , I thought.

I didn't know how I knew that, but I did. Not tomorrow, not next month, or even next year, but there would be a time when Matthias would come into his own and be ready to lead, protect, and comfort his own pack. The vision brought tears to my eyes, but they were tears of happiness, not grief.

I wondered if Sean knew yet. He hadn't said so, but he might have been waiting for me to come to that conclusion for myself. I wouldn't have been ready to hear it until now. He knew me better than I knew myself sometimes. I loved him for that, and for a million other reasons.

Because I'd never done so before and I didn't know how he would react, I drew carefully on Matthias's strength and magic to ease my pain the way Sean's alpha magic did when I let him do that for me. The pain didn't go away—it transferred to Matthias instead. His chest rumbled, but he didn't flinch or move away. Gently, he squeezed my shoulder, wordlessly encouraging me to take as much comfort as I needed. The painful prickling of shifter magic on my arms faded as his wolf settled into the role of providing support and protection.

I dropped the first crystal into my cup holder, picked up the empty crystal, and scooped the spirit's vile trace from Malcolm's left hand. The sensation was acutely unpleasant, like grabbing rotten garbage, but I let out a breath. Malcolm was safe now—or at least as safe as any of us could be.

I, however, was not safe. At all.

The faded magic we'd found yesterday had felt moldy and putrid. Malcolm had described it as evil that had crawled from the bowels of the earth.

I'd encountered many malevolent things—alive, dead, undead, and other—but nothing that felt like this magic. This spirit was an abomination. The closest comparison I could make was to the sorcerer Mira?, who'd tortured Malcolm and damn near killed me.

The spirit's dark gray trace coiled around my bloody, injured fingers with the sensation of something locking in place.

Before my eyes, my hand withered, twisted, and decayed. I screamed in pain and gagged at the horrible, nauseating sensation of my flesh turning dark and mottled blue-black.

Under the spirit's control, my own rotting hand closed on my throat and squeezed. Stars filled my vision as everything grew dim. Somewhere close by Matthias snarled and Malcolm shouted, but their words were indistinct. The roaring in my ears grew until I heard nothing else. I might be clawing at my own hand and throat, fighting to free myself, but my world had dwindled to only the sensation of my misshapen, bony fingers crushing my windpipe.

A man's ghostly face appeared in the gathering darkness, twisted in ferocious rage and hate. Unlike most spirits I'd encountered, this one was powerful enough that instead of the vague shape of a human body, I saw details: unevenly cut and matted dark hair, thick eyebrows, a patchy beard and mustache, pockmarked skin, and a discolored and threadbare shirt over massive shoulders. And the deadest, coldest, most predatory eyes I'd ever seen that didn't belong to one of the ancient vampires. I got the sense this enormous and evil man had been the embodiment of cruelty and death long before he'd become a necromancer's pet.

Slowly, deliberately, he dragged his spectral tongue over my face from my chin to my forehead. The violation was a vile, revolting act of possession and denigration. Fury and disgust made me shudder, but other than that I couldn't move. My body wouldn't respond, even as my brain screamed at me to get away.

The sensation of decay spread through me, and I swore I felt my bones, skin, muscles, and even my blood turning to gore and dust, as if my entire body would crumble and fall apart while I still lived.

"You's gon' die," the ghost promised in a raspy, harsh voice, displaying a mouthful of rotting teeth. "We's comin' for you. Jus' you wait, little birdie. Jus' you wait ."

And then he was gone.